Wednesday, March 22, 2006


21 March 2006, 12:26 AM

All this talk about butterflies
it's got me wanting to see one
though I'm awfully fond of caterpillars
their fat-sectioned bodies and almost-legs

They can be soft
those little caterpillars
I've always liked the feel of the fuzzy ones
against my cheek
(though butterfly's wings are softer)
and they're so harmless

But I wouldn't call them beautiful
and I so want to be beautiful

A Walk at the Reservoir II

11 March 2006, 4 PM

A harsh wind day
cold and uninviting
yet beautiful nonetheless
for one with eyes to see
the multi-faceted slate gray
splintered by the wind into ripples
endlessly shattering across the reservoir
toward Sycamore

lovely as she ever was
so bare and bright
so faithful throughout my plight
day and night she stands
keeps vigil at the reservoir

She aches and yearns
she longs for what she does not have
but she stands and never ceases
to reach heavenward
even when she cannot see
the azure firmament
beyond a stubborn slate gray sky

She knows who he is
the wide blue sky
She knows he houses the sun
the stars
the guardian of night
She also knows he is not all in all

She knows his beauty
and loves him rightly
reaching through and beyond his splendor
toward the Deep
as he would have intended
if ever there had been any doubt

I catch a glimpse of Milward
in the shallows
He cannot possibly be sunning himself
there is so little of the sun today
though spring fast approaches
On winter she encroaches
draws sap from roots
tempts buds from limbs
begins the season once again
leaves me breathless in the biting wind

Green as the Grass

22 March 2006, 8:03 AM

Still saddened by the plight
and wondering when it ends

if it ends

and I remember that I once heard
a very wise man warn me against
striving to rush the process of healing
for we are healed
delivered from our crosses
to bear more crosses

I understand it never ends
this side of Eternity

And oh, how I long for the other side
to see the side of the leaf that meets the sun
unfiltered and green as the grass of the lea

Thursday, March 09, 2006


9 March 2006, 3:30 PM

How fickle are our appetites

They wax and wane
from pleasure

Round and round and round again
with not much more to show for gain
than heartburn

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Inheriting the Earth

5 March 2006, 1:04 AM

Reaching hard for lumps of coal
I miss the diamond You set so gently before me
refracting perfection
blazing with divinity
within my reach

Clambering in soot
I miss more than the gem
as evidenced by clumsy fumbling toward the treasure
I finally behold

Thinking that I know
believing I may grasp at will all that lies within my reach
my hands meet infinite value glittering on my skin
Lost in ecstasy of having claimed
my prize I fail to heed
the heat which sears my fingers clasped so tightly
for fear of losing what I've found

The smell of burning flesh brings me to my senses
Reflex takes its place
I drop the stone and for the first time I wonder

do I want it?
Do I really want to hold the earth in my hands
For meekness will deliver it
but not before it burns from my person every part
not in keeping with attaining the prize

"Death is in the cost"
and if I will not be burned
my inheritance is forfeit

"Death is in the cost" taken from Wendell Berry.

Thursday, March 02, 2006


3 March 2006, 11:11 AM

She grows best
with roots in the waters
her arms raised
high into the azure sky

A dragon lurks in the hollow
where her heart once was
and may still be

A sycamore has room enough
to house despair alongside hope
desire beside her grief
She was always thus inclined
always will be

Choice did not make it so
in the beginning
but necessity

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

The Dungeon

1 March 2006, 12:52 PM

These kids don't need my panic
They can use my fear
my rage
even my helplessness so long as these
places within drive me to love them
remember them
bear them before the Holy Table
speak the "Lord have mercy" for their sake

But the panic and despair
rob my vision
fool me into thinking I'm still there
and all the years between
those tears and these don't exist
They're not real
just a figment of a half forgotten imagination
run wild with hopes and dreams of life
beyond the dungeon

George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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